Nonna and The Nazi

Sometimes I fear that once a hashtag stops trending, it leaves our hearts and minds. Lately I feel compelled to make sure that doesn't happen; as an artist, and as a teacher, and as human.

Throughout my childhood, I always heard the story of Nonna and the nazis. 

My grandmother grew up in the hills of Italy during World War II. Save the images of Under the Tuscan Sun for another day, for her earlier years were far from glamourous.

There was no running water.

There was no indoor plumbing.

They worried about food, constantly.

They worried for their lives, for the Nazis ransacked and soiled everything they touched, and everyone they loved.  

Growing up I always remember the story of Gina and her neighbor. Gina was my grandmothers donkey. Perhaps you could say that Gina was even her first friend.

One day, the Nazis eventually came to her home. 

They took what they wanted.

And then, they shot and took her donkey.

She yelled at them, and they shot at her.

76 years ago, she's still here.

And one week ago, the Nazi flag was paraded around Charlottesville like it was no big deal. As if it stood for anything other than hate and terror and the death of 11 million people, and the attempt to wipe Jewish people from this earth.

AS IF.

I cannot shake Charlottesville. 

And honestly, I don't know how anyone can shake that. 

My mom showed my Nonna the footage of Charlottesville, and it shook my grandmother to the core.

Please let me die before they ever come back. Please.

Just this week she told me of how her neighbor was killed in front of her face. Shot dead. Just like that. 

I don't know why she never shared that until now. I can only think that it's hard to talk about the ghosts. Perhaps some pain never really fades, perhaps you just get used to living with the hurt. 

I wonder how many ghosts stick with her from that time. I can't imagine what she went through, and I hope I never have to. 

But I know that hope will not always be enough. Words are beautiful, words have meaning, but words of love and justice met with action - that's what matters. That's what counts. That's what prevents the history books from flipping the pages backwards and reliving the darkest times all over again.

So stand up and show up and speak up when you see hatred and bigotry.

Make sure love is a louder voice on your screens.

Take the time to educate people about what they do not understand, for hatred and prejudice is brewed in a pool of fear and ignorance. 

The time in which we live allows all of us to have a platform. Think about how you will use yours. Love is always a choice. Hate is always a choice. The life that stretches before you is made up of a billion and one choices - some big, some small  - all with meaning. All there for you to take.

You just have to choose.

Living In My Head

I won't be living in my head, I won't be living in my head.

There are places I haven't gone, and there are books I haven't read.

I won't be living in my head. 

I'll come and lay beside you,

I'll lay beside you in this bed.

It's been a while since a song has inspired my own words. But that's what the music of Mackenzie Shivers does - it reignites a flame you did not realize was dim.

How often do we keep our dreams close to the pillow in which we lay our head, never letting them live out before us?

How often do we close our mouths around the words we wish to say - whether it is love or lust or hate or happiness or softness or sadness - instead of letting them out to hang in the air and the space between us?

How ofte do we live in the moments of yesterday or the promise of tomorrow - forgetting to live in the life that we find ourselves in?

How often do we live in the fear of what if - rather than living in the reality of what is?

It's easy to hide behind screens and be comfortable with the glow of the lives of others rather than seeking the light that is within you.

It's easy to live in our own little bubbles. To pretend that we know it all. To say that we don't need anyone. To think that we can do this life alone. To save the dreams and hopes for a brighter tomorrow for the sparkly moments of dreamland - for fear of disrupting the known. 

Don't.

Dreams do not come to fruition through the glow your screen and the click of a keyboard. Dreams are not born from stoking the fire of fear and letting the unpredictability of the unknown overshadow what makes your heart happy.

Dreams come from dancing with the unknown. They come from pushing yourself out of your comfort zones, and surrounding yourself with people who challenge your mind and nourish your soul.

You were never meant to be small.

You were never meant to live inside your head.

There are too many people you've yet to meet - too many things you have yet to discover, too many things you have yet to learn.

So go. Soar. Thrive. Land. And then soar some more if you have to.

Heaven Does Exist

Faith is a funny thing.

It's a hard thing.

Lately it seems like an impossible thing to have - especially when the world swirls with such hatred - how can we have faith? Faith in family. Faith in friends. Faith in country. Faith in people. Faith that good will always trump evil. 

Faith that there's something bigger than us.

It's a funny thing.

You would've been 43 today.

And there's not a day that you're not on my mind. Not a day that I don't think that it doesn't seem real or fair. Not a day goes by when it doesn't all seem like a huge nightmare.

But, this is our new normal now.

This is the new hand we've been dealt.

And still, it doesn't seem fair. But it's renewed a sense of faith. 

For even in death, you've taught me about life.

You've taught me heaven does exist.

I know it now, when your dog comes to sit on me, (a person who's afraid of dogs), and yet I'm struck with an overwhelming calm.

I know it now, when it's been blah weather all week, and today there's not a cloud in the sky. The sun is shining bright, and the water is waiting with open arms for your people to go fish. I know it sounds nuts, but I know that's you, smiling up from above. Giving everyone the gift of this memory of today, celebrating you.

And I know we'll always celebrate you, Rick. And I know you'll always be here.

Cause the things you've left behind are too precious to ever die - the love you had, and give continues to live on in the twinkles of our eyes and the warmths of our hugs. The love you had and continue to give will always be found within the folds of our smiles.

We miss you, brother.

Happy Birthday! 

Nonna's Trees

"Megan, you're going to think I'm a little crazy," she said.

"Why?" I replied

"Cause I talk to the trees. The trees know everything. The trees see everything. The trees live so long because of their roots. And in my next life, I'm a gonna come back as a tree"

My Nonna talks to trees.

She's 93 and talks to trees, and I swear to you, she's the sharpest tack in the whole box, and still very much operating with a full deck of cards.

But lately, she's got a thing for trees.

We're all interconnected, she says. Like the roots of trees. 

She read somewhere about these trees. The roots. The magic. The all knowing power. 

I don't know where she read it.

In her typical sage like fashion, the words she took from it and told me have been running around in my head for days.

Trees. Roots. Trees. Life.

How many times have you just stopped to listen to the trees?

Have you ever just sat, without a cellphone or a conversation, and listened to the trees?

I don't think I ever have.

And I wonder if it's because she's older, that she stops to take it in. The sunshine. The green. The grooves of the bark.

I would imagine that her age does have something to do with it, for with the gift of growing old comes the understanding of the importance of slowing down, and stopping to stare and talk to the trees. 

And maybe if you stop to stare at the trees long enough, you'll start to slow down and take in the people around you.

There's something about knowing the laugh lines of your loved ones faces, and how the folds of their smiles deepen.

There's something about understanding the roots of what makes someone - what holds them up, what keeps them grounded, what allows them to flourish and thrive.

Too often we overlook the tiny moments of life in anticipation for something bigger and better. Life is made and lived in the moments of in-between, in the times you stand and stare at the trees.

Your Core (Not a Fitness Piece)

I've been struggling with the words swirling around in my head lately.

There are so many things happening in this world that keep me up at night.

There are so many things to say.

And yet, I don't even know where to start.

And then today I applied for a job, and part of the application was to write about core values.

Core values.

It’s been a while since I’ve put those to paper.

And perhaps it’s because I’ve been too busy trying to live them out - for what’s a core value on a piece of paper if you don’t actually practice what you preach in real life?

But it's something interesting to dig deep into - what's at your core?

I value my family.

I value my friends.

I value my work.

I value education.

I value art.

But it’s more than valuing them.

I believe in them.

I believe that every child who walks through the doors of a classroom deserves the support of the adult who’s teaching them, but more than that, I believe that said child should have the belief their educator.

For if we cannot see the potential and goodness in our students, how are they to see it in themselves?

I believe in setting the bar high for each and every student that comes through the doors of whatever classroom I'm in, and I believe in being there to help guide them and give them the tools to reach that bar.

I believe that this world, at this current time is insane.

I also wonder if it’s always been this crazy, but now our eyes and ears are finally open to wrongness. I wonder if the screens that we’re so attached to have forced us to look at our own evils more closely. For it’s become hard for rational humans to turn their eyes away from the hurt and heartache in this world - and I believe that’s actually a good thing.

I believe in the goodness in people, and that perhaps it’s easy to see the flaws in others rather than seeing their humanity, but I believe we can be better than that.

I believe that if more people saw the light in one another, more people would start to see it in themselves - and the ripple effects of that sort of kindness know no limits.

I believe in the transformative power of theatre and art - that it can shape lives and spark hope and be the mirror that we all need. 

I believe that good leadership is wrapped up in a myriad of things. 

I believe that in order to inspire new leaders, we need models of good leadership. Good leadership is about knowing how to delegate, and trust those who work for you. I believe that at the heart of good leadership is knowing that you don’t know anything. A leader is supposed to lead with a balance of love and strength, and put those around them at ease.

But at the crux of it all, good leadership is knowing how to listen.

For if you cannot listen to those around you, how can you possibly lead?

The Empathy Muscle

Megan, it makes me sad when my classmates feel like they're not loved. Because everyone should feel loved. And when they don't - they'll be really sad and commit suicide and that's not OK.

He's 12.

And I thought to myself, what happens between the years of twelve and adulthood that we stop caring about how much people are loved?

Of all the things in the world to fizzle and fade, why is empathy one of them?

For the past two weeks, I had the privilege and honor to teach two theatrical workshops to middle school students.

The program is called Project Hero, and no, it's not this hugs and butterflies and everyone stands around in a circle and sings kumbaya. 

It's a theatrical workshop teaching kids how to be more empathetic. It's a workshop that reminds them about what empathy is - and how to infuse that in their daily lives.

Because sometimes we forget that teaching empathy is just as important as math and science and English and history.

This program reminds students and faculties and schools about the importance of working the empathy muscle, and it's a beautiful thing.

Each and every year I marvel at what's like to be a middle school student in the digital age. Mean tweets and mean comments and laughter at the cost of someone else's pain swirl around the halls of the classrooms, following kids when they leave to go home.

It's nonstop for these children of the screen.

Screens for homework, screens for socializing - screens upon screens upon screens.

And somewhere amidst the glow of the latest apple product, they're forgetting how to talk to one another. They're forgetting how to feel.

And I go around in circles, trying to figure out how to fix it, how to make it better, how to heal and steel their hearts so that they can remember that the bits of humanity that keep us pulsing and beating are never found in 140 characters - but in the folds of someone's smile and the warmth of someone's hug.

Each and every year I marvel at what it's like to be a middle school kid, and then some of them blow me away with their sensitivity, their wisdom, and yes, their empathy.

Each and every year I wonder if my words will stick - if they'll find the courage in themselves to be people who feel for people, who care for people. who realize that the world needs more shoulders to cry on, and outstretched hands, and ears that will listen, and hearts that will love.

Each and every year I go into a classroom for Project Hero hoping to bring some light into the lives of these students, and they often bring such light into my own. 

The Love of Strangers

I just spend a week in Portland.

I met some of the most interesting people, and saw some of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. 

One night, the boyfriend and I went to a wine bar, and met a woman named Sam. It was a tiny place. It was warm and welcoming, and so we sat at the bar.

I'm always one for conversation.

So, we talked with Sam for the majority of our evening there. She was a mother of two small girls, lived in the suburbs, but worked in Portland. She grew up all over the country (her Dad kept climbing the corporate ladder.) I forgot where she went to college. But she did join the Peace Corps after - and was stationed in Honduras. We laughed about her stories from her time there. And we laughed about her fears about her daughters becoming teenagers. And we laughed about politics. And we laughed about life.

There was a lot of laughing. 

I'll never remember the color of the paint of the walls of that bar.

I don't remember the name of the wine we drank.

But I'll remember Sam. Her warmth. Her laugh. The floral print shirt. I'll remember her stories.

Because experiences are what sticks. Shared laughs and smiles. Moments of connection. 

Portland was filled with beautiful people and places.

Open souls who took the time to talk to two strangers from New York - and there was something so beautiful about that.

Tragedy struck when we were in Portland. Two brave souls, Taliesin Myrddin Namkai-Meche and Ricky John were murdered as they defended two teenage girls.

I'll never understand the need to hurt another soul. I don't get the desire to inflict pain on another. It just doesn't compute in my brain.

But I can't stop thinking of them who stepped up when they were needed. Strangers standing beside strangers, in solidarity of something bigger than them - fills me with something I can't quite describe. Bone sadness for their loss, and yet, hope for the goodness in humans. 

I read an article that said that Talisesin's last words were - tell everyone on this train that I love them.

Tell everyone on this train that I love them.

Dear Lord, what a beautiful soul.

Laying in a pool of his own blood - that's' what he says. Tell everyone on this train that I love them. I love them. I love them. I love them.

Love.

Even in the darkest moments, love is what we hold onto. Love is what makes the dark less scary. Love is what leads us to light.

Everywhere you go in Portland it seemed that there were public displays of love. Movements against hate. Celebrations of all people. For all people. And love.

Love was everywhere you looked, and though there will always be people who hate, I hope the heartbeat of Portland pulses with love. 

I hope we can all carry the love of these brave men and this city with us - I hope we hold it close in the days ahead, and let it lead us on in the darkest of nights. 

I hope our ability to love will always trump our instinct to hate. 

FOR THE MOMS.

I hope Marie marries a rich guy, she said.

I hope Megan is successful and can support herself and then falls in love with someone who she wants to share her life with, said my Mom.

I wish I could say that that describes my mom perfectly - but the reality is, that she's such an interesting human that such a statement wouldn't do all the layers of her justice.

My mother is a high school AP Spanish teacher, who's since retired and now translates for the court system. She worked full time, and yet, cooked homemade meals every day, and took care of my grandmother (and continues to do so). She worked full time, and yet, my childhood memories are full of sunshine and laughter and a mom who was always there. (So. ladies reading this who work and also have children and have guilt about going back to work - cut yourself some slack, I promise you they'll turn out OK.)

She's my greatest cheerleader, and yet, she's the one who always tells me what I don't want to hear, but need to.

My mother would always, and continues to move heaven and earth to make sure my brother and I are ok.

But it wasn't just about making sure there was food in our bellies, clothes on our backs, and a roof over our heads - it was about making sure we were kind to people.

It was about making sure we were kind to ourselves.

It was about making sure that we could do whatever we wanted to do - but she urged us to just do it. Don't spend your life talking about it - do it. And do it well. And if you fall, then get back up and try again.

My brother is going to be a doctor.

I'm in show business and a writer and a teacher.

I think she did ok.

And I know we've come this far because of her - so thanks, Mommy! 

Mother's Day is tomorrow, and I keep thinking about the loved ones I know who don't have a good relationship with their mothers - and you know what? That's OK. The relationship of Mother and Child doesn't always thrive in the biological sense.

But perhaps there's a woman in your life who's guided you, and loved you unconditionally, and been that force of unwavering support and strength for you. Perhaps you've never spent time in the womb of the woman who's been your mother -- and you know what, who cares? The beauty from motherhood comes from a love that knows no bounds. And that's what counts.

Mother's Day is tomorrow, and I keep thinking of those I know who've lost their moms. I can't imagine that pain, nor do I pretend to. But if you get the longing and urge to celebrate her, I hope you roll with it. I hope you listen to her favorite music and eat her favorite food and tell the stories about her that made you laugh. I hope you remember that someone loved you very much. I hope you look into the faces of the grandchildren she left behind, and remind them about their Grandma.

For this day is about celebrating our mothers - whether they walk among us or not.

I knew some friends who experienced a miscarriage this year. And I my heart breaks for each and every one of you. Words are most certainly not enough. But I'll say this - just because you aren't holding that angel baby in your arms today, doesn't mean you are not part of that club of motherhood. Tomorrow let yourself cry. Let yourself laugh. Let yourself remember what it felt like to feel your baby in a belly - even if it was only for a moment. Because in that moment, you became a Mom. And that is beautiful. That is something to celebrate. So tomorrow, give yourself permission to do whatever will lift and ease your spirits.

To my friends who are mothers - I see you. I see you taking your kids to the library and the aquarium, and making art projects in your living room. I see you working full time and still being the class mom. I see you working full time and working and going to school full time to make a better life for you and your family. I see how amazing all of your children are turning out - and I see that's because of you. Children aren't born perfect - it takes work and love and sweat and tears to make little humans reach their greatest potential. And not everyone sees the work that goes into motherhood - for it's a lifetime of work and worry that goes often unnoticed.

But I see you.

I see you doing a great job.

Even when you think you're not - you are.

I see you.

And so, I hope all of you have a wonderful day tomorrow.

Celebrate. Enjoy. Rest.

You deserve it. 

Your Planned Parenthood Story

If I got pregnant tomorrow, I'd have the baby. 

But that's my choice.

If I got pregnant while I was in high school, I'm not sure I'd be able to say that same thing.

Again, that's my choice.

I see the gynecologist regularly. I always pride myself on being "adult" about my health - vitamins, regular doctors visits, annual PAP exams, because that's important.

Because your health is important.

It seems like such a silly statement to write, and yet, so necessary in the time in which we live - for it seems to be slipping the minds of one too many.

I mean, how can we be expected to take care of others, if we can't take care of ourselves?

The older I get, the more I channel my frustration with the world around me into a piece of art. A play. A concert. An article.

Which is how "Because We Care: A Benefit for Planned Parenthood" came about - I wanted to create a benefit concert that would donate a portion of the proceeds to this organization that helps more women than I can count.

It's an evening of musical theatre - songs of love, of hope, and of strength. But it's also an evening of stories.

Stories about how Planned Parenthood has helped you. Stories about how Planned Parenthood was there when nobody else was. Stories about how Planned Parenthood was the saving grace that so many needed, and continue to need.

Stories from each and every one of you.

Feel free to share yours via the form below, and do specify if you'd like your story to remain anonymous. 

So, here's to hope and strength and love.

Here's to supporting one another even if it's a choice that we wouldn't make ourselves.

Here's to all of you! 

Death and Meatballs.

Meatballs.

We were talking about meatballs.

And like a flash, I was sixteen again, and my Nana had surprised me with a pot of meatballs for my nineteenth birthday - all for me. My brother, my parents, my cousins, my aunts and uncles - nobody was allowed to eat the meatballs.

It seems silly to be talking about something like this, but it made me happy. The memory that surfaced from a conversation with my Schuyler about dinner turned into memories of meatballs. 

And it made me feel better.

See, there's been too many people I know who've lost loved ones way too young recently.

Brothers, husbands, fathers, friends - all gone before their 50th birthday.

My family lost our Ricky.

My friend Nicole from college lost her brother.

My colleague Adrianna lost her best friend from childhood.

My colleague Sarah lost the love of her life.

All of these people were under the age of 50. 

And I can't help but think - how do we keep their memories alive? Yes, their bodies aren't here...but that doesn't mean that we forget about what they meant to us, does it?

That doesn't mean we stop talking about them, does it?

It can't.

I won't let it.

My grandmother died in 2006 - that's over ten years ago.

And we still talk about her.

It comes in bits and pieces - a Christmas tradition, a picture, a story that has stuck to my fathers bones like glue.

But that's what remains of a life well lived - bits and pieces that stick to the ones that we love like glue.

The memories come and go, like waves that crash amongst the shore.

But just as the waves are a constant, so are the memories.

So how do we keep the memories of those we love alive?

In tiny conversations as you're deciding what to watch on Netflix. In the holiday meals that fill your bellies. In the celebration of new milestones, knowing that they would be proud. Knowing that they would love the joy of it all. It happens the wee hours of the night when you find yourself talking to the dark - knowing that he or she will hear you, wherever they may be.

Words string us along in this life, and words keep us around after we've left this earth.